Veteran Preference

The form asked

‘veteran or not’

and I checked not

though I am

but seek 

no preference

from a war

that stole my pride.

Consumers Rejoice

It’s good to know

when the world ends

there will be time

for a commercial break

to numb our grief

and distract our mind.

Consumers rejoice

to the end of time.

by Dave Holloway

Always Duped

Under a strange spell,

a mass hypnosis,

Hitler was the apple

of his nation’s eye,

witch’s burned,

WMD’s weren’t found

and Jesus was nailed

on a cross to die

and today ‘technology’

can do no wrong.

Changing World

When the sociably inept

teach us to socialize,

it stands to reason

we’ll socialize ineptly

and the world changes.

When the enemy states

it will shut us down

and within ten years,

just look around

you’ll see how it changes.

When children control

who’ll pay the bills?

The same inept media

directing their wills?

And so the world changes.

When I’m ever asked

I say I can’t tell.

My truths with the towers

long ago fell

in a changing world.

The Freedom Guise

When bombs are falling

on Cairo and Tel Aviv

please tell me again

what it means to be free

you media fools

capturing every scene

in endless loops

of the same old thing.

The illusive promise

in the freedom guise

but upon those bombs

the real secret lies,

made in the USA.

by Dave Holloway

Adrift 

upon a turbulent sea

a life raft thrown

into his arms

now heavy as stone

with ropes attached

through loops unseen

dragging his soul

thru a horrid dream

breathless and thick

blood crashing down,

a rhythmic beat

beats a distant sound

while fingers reach

into thin air

grasping to find

nothing there.

This poem is my attempt to capture the moment we realize the passion is gone.

 Retribution

Peacefully she sleeps 

within a cocoon 

awaiting a glorious 

re-entry, 

then suddenly awakened 

by monstrous tentacles 

bursting thin membrane, 

releasing the grotesque, 

desiring green blood 

of every creepy thing 

she abhorred so long ago 

in another form 

upon smooth legs 

strutting her stuff 

but now 

on hairy spikes 

she scurries across 

a alien terrain, 

jaws ever working, 

devouring her mates  

soon to be forgotten 

if ever acknowledged 

at all,,, 

Demon Rising

twisting and turning 

as illusions unwind, 

invasion is quick 

consuming the mind, 

fingers to claws 

gripping too tight, 

teeth seeking flesh 

to rip and bite, 

revealing a sign 

of the rising within, 

an apparition of sorts, 

a subtle blend 

between what's real 

and barely unseen, 

in like a storm, 

out like steam, 

scorching then cool, 

rising as it falls, 

power is felt 

the engine stalls, 

repetitions sing 

through partial thought, 

demanding understanding, 

scaring away what it sought, 

pleading then denying, 

smiling then despair, 

greedily devouring 

its pretense to share 

with a pleading host, 

begging let go, 

never realizing 

it rises from her soul,,, 

by Dave Holloway  1998

Land of Despair

A slip into

the land of despair

but oh,

what lovely hair

lying upon shoulders,

smooth and fair,

giving rhyme

down to her toes

servants to our eyes

this land knows

hiding in the beauty

that leads us there,

our guiding light

to the land of despair.

Then one thing 

after another

begins to appear,

a losing proposition

is always near,

the right course,

is soon to disappear,

a choking compulsion

on a desolate air

we learn to breathe 

in the land of despair.

artwork & poem by Dave Holloway

The Fantasy

The artist stands back with brush in hand.

A masterpiece that’ll cause all to stand.

A great applause then filled his head.

Beautiful and elegant, the crowd always said.

Kings and queens hurried to his side.

Masters of the past, who long ago died

to obtain the fame he had right now,

pleaded his secret and asked him how.

The artist smiled then back to his work.

Sometimes the fantasy made him feel a jerk.

But only to himself, no one else ever knew

the motivating force he always drew

within his mind, within his soul.

Reality’s fame always came too slow

and receiving the world’s recognition

is never as glorious as his mind’s invention.

So again he withdraws back into that mind.

A place more fulfilling where he’ll always find

total acceptance, everyone loves him there.

A towering self-image and he’ll always wear

exquisite attire and a beauty on his arm

and unto himself he sees little harm 

for the artist continues with brush in hand.

Motivated by illusion where he’ll always stand

unique among the normal, a sight to behold.

Judged crazy by mediocrity but they all sold

their rights to eternity, a fantasy you see,

reserved for the artist in you and me.

I wrote this back in ‘88’ when I was a artist and quite delusional.